


A Letter, Marked Private

by Sangerin



Category: Malory Towers Series - Blyton
Genre: Epistolary, F/F, Femslash, Gen, Special Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-30
Updated: 2010-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-08 12:37:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/75725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangerin/pseuds/Sangerin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just imagine what my Fifth formers have been up to. You never shall so I simply must tell you. (And yes, this will be one of those "for two pins I'd retire a happy woman, and never be a headmistress again" letters. They are far too frequent at the moment, at least for my bank's comfort!)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Letter, Marked Private

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> Many eons ago, there was a Malory Towers RPG on Livejournal. This fic is compliant with the additional fifth-year canon created in that RPG.

My dearest Charlotte,

I haven't written to you in far too long, and you shan't get anything sensible from me in this epistle. My mind is in a complete whirl - what a week we have just had! Schoolgirls really can get the most incredible ideas into their heads. It wouldn't matter nearly as much if they didn't insist on acting upon them! Just imagine what my Fifth formers have been up to. You never shall so I simply must tell you. (And yes, this will be one of those "for two pins I'd retire a happy woman, and never be a headmistress again" letters. They are far too frequent at the moment, at least for my bank's comfort!)

These are girls of sixteen or seventeen, most of them. I've told you many stories about this group over the years, but to remind you: They've finished their School Certificate, or most of them have. Two -- you remember, it was Alica and Gwen -- failed last year; Alicia because of illness, and Gwen because of her own foolishness. We decided to let them stay with their form and retake the exams with the Upper Fourth at the end of this year. A term and a half on from the decision, I'm still of two minds. Both girls have settled well into the extra coaching we decided to mandate, but I do hope that this latest situation doesn't upset Alicia. Nothing will shake Gwendoline out of her belief that the world revolves around her. But Alicia -- I suspect that these latest events may undo a lot of the good work she's done of late.

That was a major diversion, wasn't it? It's only in my letters to you, my dear, that I allow myself to become so scatterbrained. Thoughts of you distract me so.

I was trying to explain how out-of-character this latest escapade is for my Fifth formers, these girls I've seen grow through the ranks of the school. They are a fascinating group, and I've thought so ever since I met each of them on the first day they we with us. And they have certainly fulfilled expectations until now. For example, last term they were in charge of the end-of-term entertainments, and would you believe, they produced a pantomime. They didn't use an existing script: nothing so straight-forward for these young ladies. No -- two of them wrote the words for the entire show, and another composed all the music. They put together a top-quality production and we all felt -- the staff, I mean -- that these girls were beginning to grow up. This past week has put paid to those assumptions.

It all began with Irene. Her musical ability really is something out of the ordinary. She was the composer of their pantomime last term, and while you might expect the tunes written by a schoolgirl to be, well ... schoolgirlish ... hers were an absolute delight! Her parents, needless to say, were greatly impressed, enough to arrange for an audition for Irene at a specialised music school. We all expected that this would be Irene's final term with us, and that we would soon be going in to London to hear her first symphony performed at the Albert Hall.

Well, the audition came off two weeks ago, and Irene did the unthinkable, poor girl. She must have had a severe attack of nerves, for from all reports she failed the audition very badly indeed. I've known Irene since she was a first former, and while she is one of the most scatterbrained creatures on this earth (as is the way of things, her special friend Belinda is another of them.) However, in all these years I have never known Irene to lose her head when it is supposed to be focused on music. In this instance, she lost her head completely, and her chance to attend this specialist school that would do her music a world of good.

The poor girl was understandably crushed, and in an attempt to cheer her up, the form's co-Head Girls (at that stage, Darrell Rivers and that monkey Alicia Johns) convinced her to come to me for permission for the form to go off for a picnic. There's a field nearby where our Seniors often go for such events, and with certain restrictions, I permitted the outing. And oh, Charlotte, how I wish I hadn't!

I've had to piece together what happened on the picnic from some very difficult interviews with shamefaced girls. Bat as far as I can discover, the picnic went along perfectly well until after the girls had eaten. The Head Girls insisted on the whole group resting after their meal. After this, they got out the sporting equipment they had brought with them. Lacrosse sticks, mostly, as it's a better game to play on uneven ground, if play on uneven ground one must. But of course, my sports-mad darling, you know all these technicalities. I must ask, however -- have you ever had a ball smash into your eye? Poor Irene -- and I seem always to using that descriptor, but she's been having an awful time -- was the one who caught a stray ball in the eye, and she's sitting up in the San right now with an eye-patch over one eye, and suffering doubts over her eyesight in addition to the doubts over her future musical career. It was Moira Linton, a former Head Girl both last year and this term (and that story is a whole different kettle of fish I simply don't intend to go into in this letter), who flung the bull. Moira's a difficult young woman, something of a fish-out-of-water among the Fifth. She doesn't show unnecessary emotion (or, at times, necessary emotion), but I suspect she really is quite upset about the injury to Irene. She simply doesn't show it to anyone.

But the events of the picnic didn't end there by any means. When Irene was hurt, naturally all the girls flocked over to her. Except for two. I'm not accusing anyone of collusion (Moira may be a little hard, but she is as straight as a rod in matters of honour), but while everyone else was concerned about Irene, two of the girls slipped away. I don't need to tell you which two. Now, I know you adore our wicked Bill -- or at least what I've told you of her -- but after the terrible trouble she and her Clarissa were in earlier in the term, I thought she'd be more circumspect. And don't look at me like that! They're far too young to form such serious attachments, and even if they were, do you want me to lose my job and my reputation?

On second thoughts, don't answer that question!

The girls had their horses with them -- both completely horse mad, which is, of course, why you think so much of them. And I raked Evelyn Potts over the coals for allowing them to bring their horses, for who knows how far they went. They didn't come back that night, and what made it worse is that none of those imps reported it! It wasn't until young Daphne disappeared the next morning that Darrell and Alicia saw fit to report to me. Well, what could I do? I contacted the girls' parents -- quaking in my shoes when I was speaking to Clarissa's titled father, mind you. We sent out search parties, and I told Miss Rivers and Miss Johns exactly what I thought of them. Poor things. They looked like worn out rags when they left my office, and more so this afternoon when I told them that they had lost their Head Girl-ships. This form is now embarking on the final third of the term with its third Head Girl, and this time it's Catherine Grey. I had no choice, Charlotte, really I hadn't. For it didn't stop with the disappearance of Bill, Clarissa and Daphne.

Given three sets of worried parents -- actually, only two: even faced with the disappearance of their only daughter, the Robinson's seemed quite distracted. I hope nothing is wrong at home -- what do you think I needed least? Exactly. The next morning, Mary-Lou was missing as well. By this time I was at my wits end.

They're all back safely, or nearly so. Clarissa is in San -- the child's consitution is still weak, and she is paying for her escapade well and truly. As for the others, we'll institute the official punishments of course (I hesitate to tell you that a reorganisation of the dorms is one of them, for I know you'll frown at me. But it's necessary), but much of the discipline will, as always come from the girls themselves. I'm already seeing the signs of it, although Cynthia James is tearing her hair out over her flock at the moment, and insists alternately that I'm being too harsh and too lenient. It's chaos among the girls at the moment, but I've seen situations like this before. It may take a while, but it will sort itself out in the end.

The undercurrents among these children really are beyond belief. Quite apart from Wilhelmina and Clarissa, who seem determined to send me prematurely grey, Alicia and Betty haven't spoken to each other since Half Term, and this after a sustained campaign to finally shift them to the same Tower. Then there's poor Moira. She's as upright and honest as the day is long, but far too concerned with appearances. Not the way Daphne or Gwen are, but the appearance of the form. She puts that above everything else, and although as Headmistress I ought to applaud her approach, I can see it making her life more difficult. And now she's attracted the notice of one of the second formers, Alicia's young cousin June. If I thought Alicia or her mother were mischief makers, young June has them in spades. And yet, like most of these girls, she can be terribly refreshing at times. But only in small doses. Moira must get weary of her.

Oh, there are times I wish I was this young again. It's those times I can understand, in a way, how Wilhelmina and Clarissa act. I remember when we were like them. Of course, we were at college, and things were different. I'll find out soon enough what those two dreadful girls were up to soon enough. I suspect they decided to go off together, but they should never have stayed out all night. Of course, they should never have gone off alone: they know we're keeping an eye on them. And then there's Daphne and Mary-Lou no doubt. Come to think of it, there's been queer things happen between them before... But those are thoughts for another time.

This letter has been terribly prosaic, Charlotte, my dear. I hope it has brought you a little amusement, but I must say I believe simply writing it has helped me a great deal.

Despite the fact that this is decidedly not a billet-doux, never doubt how much I love you. I wish I were with you, rather than writing to you. Every day between now and the end of term will seem an age, until we are together again. I want to be able to take your face in my hands and looks into your beautiful eyes. It is only the thought of you that keeps me going, day by day, throughout all this foolish, terrible mess.

Until I hold you in my arms,

Your loving Millicent.


End file.
